A Night At The Pub
by HannaK3
Summary: John Watson thought nothing Sherlock Holmes did or said could surprise him anymore. Until on one evening he gets dragged to a pub by the consulting detective. But why? And what will the night bring?


**A/N: Oh hai there! First time writing a Sherlock FF and so I'm really excited to find out how you guys like it! As always: a massive thanks to my beta ****Elize34**** and a quick confession that English is not, nor ever has been, my first language.  
I try my best to make as less grammar mistakes as possible but I'm fairly sure a few slipped through regardless. Hope you enjoy anyway! Oh, one more thing: this little story is set sometime before the season 2 finale.**

* * *

"...No you are the one who doesn't understand." Sherlock snarled into the phone, making John look up from the newspaper he'd been reading peacefully only seconds ago. Folding up the newspaper his eyes followed Sherlock as the detective continued to argue on the phone while simultaneously pacing around the apartment.

John sighed. It wasn't hard to guess who was on the other end of that line. Business had been slow the past couple of days and as John had learned from experience that automatically meant more angry phone calls between Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes. John never quite knew what they were arguing about exactly but it definitely didn't make Sherlock more pleasant to live with.

The argument seemed to reach its climax as Sherlock appeared in the living room again, his eyes blazing with anger. "You are mistaken...no I'm perfectly capable of...fine, perhaps I will!" And with that he threw his phone on the table and immediately proceeded to lie face down on the couch.

John cleared his throat. "What that Mycroft?"

There was no response from the couch.

"What did you argue about this time?" John tried again but Sherlock remained silent, still lying face down on the couch.  
"Alright then." John muttered and picked up his newspaper again.

They stayed like that for a little while: Sherlock sulking on the couch while occasionally sighing loudly and John reading his newspaper, ignoring Sherlock's sighs.

Suddenly without saying anything Sherlock sprang up from the couch and grabbed his coat. "Where are you going?" John asked from behind his newspaper.

"I am going to the pub." Sherlock said, greatly over-pronouncing the word 'pub' as if the word itself was a novelty and something he'd never said out loud before.

This nearly made John drop his paper. "You are going to a pub? An actual pub? Why on earth would you want to do something like that? Wait a minute..." He raised an eyebrow. "This has something to do with Mycroft, hasn't it? Because if those phone calls...-"

"Yes John, I am indeed going to a pub." Sherlock interrupted him. "And you are coming with me."

"Am I?" John asked amused. He didn't know what was going on with Sherlock but he just knew it had something to do with Mycroft and he was determined to find out what that was exactly. Plus the opportunity to see Sherlock in an actual pub was too good to pass up on.

"Obviously." Sherlock replied impatiently. "Judging from what can only be describes as a smirk on your face, the prospect of me in a pub highly amuses you. Although I can't particularly see why it would be so tremendously funny. Are you coming?" He asked without taking so much as a breath in between sentences.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming." John said, slowly getting up from this chair. "But I am choosing the pub."

"Fine."

"Well this could get very interesting." John muttered under his breath before following the consulting detective out of the door.

* * *

(...)

"No." Sherlock said sharply.

"Jesus Sherlock. This is the third pub you're turning down, what's wrong with this one?" John asked in an annoyed tone.  
They were standing on the doorstep of a pub and just like the previous two pubs John had brought Sherlock to, he hadn't taken as much as one step inside before declaring he wouldn't go in.

"Oh let me see." Sherlock said in a low voice, his eyes rapidly scanning his surroundings. "The bartender at the bar in the far left doesn't clean his glasses very well, seeing as how dirty his supposedly clean glasses are. So an unhygienic bar. What else? Oh, the couple in the back is just about to have a falling out because he cheated on her with...her ex-boyfriend it would seem. Will make for a terrible scene, lots of noise and screaming. Additionally, the group of young men in the front are all pretty intoxicated already and at least three of them have anger control issues so no." He concluded. "I am not going in."

"Oh for Christ's sake." John mumbled, stepping inside of the pub.  
Without looking if Sherlock was following him he headed straight for the bar and ordered two pints. He then chose to sit down at a relatively secluded table in the back of the bar, hoping it would make Sherlock feel more at ease. 5 seconds later an uncomfortable-looking Sherlock sat down across from him.

"Okay, what's next?" Sherlock asked impatiently, staring at John.

"What do you mean 'what's next'?" John asked calmly, taking a sip from his beer and trying very hard not to let his amusement regarding his roommate sitting in a pub show.

"Yes, now that we're...", Sherlock looked around him before finishing his sentence, "Here."

"There is no next, Sherlock. We'll just sit here and, I don't know, talk about things and have a few pints."

Upon hearing those words Sherlock turned his attention to the glass of beer standing before him and he lowered his head until he was on eyelevel with the surface of the table. He observed the object before him carefully from different angles before finally sitting upright again and taking a large gulp from the glass.

Now John couldn't help but laugh out loud when he saw how Sherlock visibly shuddered and how he immediately began to complain about the 'unacceptable bitterness' of the beverage.  
"Please tell me you have had beer before." He laughed.

The man across from him looked offended, pouting his lips before answering: "Yes John, this is the first time I'm drinking beer."

"But you have drunk alcohol before, right?"

"Once or twice." Sherlock admitted. "I found the entire experience rather disappointing. Alcohol diminishes the senses instead of enhancing them, you see. Drugs, oh drugs, are far more stimulating in my experience. Alcohol on the contrary." He paused. "Is dull."

"Then why did you feel the sudden urge to drag me to a pub?" John asked curiously. Sherlock was acting very much unlike himself and somehow Mycroft had something to do with it, he just knew it.

Sherlock's lips disappeared into a thin line and he remained silent, staring sullenly at the table while he drank his beer.

He knew Sherlock long enough to know that pressing further on the matter wouldn't accomplish anything and so John quickly changed the subject: "So, uhm, is the taste a bit better now you've taken a few sips?"

"Actually yes." Sherlock replied just as he downed the last of his beer. "Once you've gotten used to the bitterness, the taste isn't all together unpleasant."

"So, uhm, you want another one then?" John asked.

Sherlock smiled and got up from his char. "I'll go get them."

* * *

(...)

"...And so Mycroft ended up getting chased by the neigbour's dog whereas I got ice-cream as a reward for figuring out who had eaten the pie." Sherlock concluded.

John let out a roaring laugh and slammed down his fist onto the table, making the dozen or so empty glasses fall over.  
"That's absolutely brilliant Sherlock." He chuckled.

Sherlock looked suspicious: "You really think so?"

"Yeah! I mean, I don't think I've ever heard you talk about your childhood. I dunno...I like hearing about it." John finished rather awkwardly when he found two grey/blue eyes staring at him.  
"You want another one?" John asked, shifting uncomfortably under the gaze of the consulting detective.

Sherlock finally stopped looking at John and shifted his attention to the empty glasses instead: "Well let me see...so far I've had...six." Sherlock counted, frowning as if he was trying to figure out the solution to a very difficult puzzle. "So that means one more would make...seven." His face brightened: "In which case yes John! Seven is a prime number, you see. I love prime numbers, they're my favourite!"

"Uhm alright then." John looked puzzled. "Two more it is."

As John was making his way to the bar he had to briefly close his eyes a few times to make the room stop spinning which made him wonder how Sherlock was feeling. John liked to think he could handle his liquor quite well, but if he was already beginning to feel the effects of alcohol surely Sherlock, who never drank at all, must be quite drunk already. Maybe he should go back and convince him it was time to go home. Especially since it was well past midnight already.  
Still, the beer definitely made Sherlock more talkative about subjects he never even mentioned such as his childhood and so even though he knew it was selfish of him, John wasn't ready to call it a night just yet.

Much to his surprise after he'd received two pints from the bartender and had turned around, he found himself looking at the backs of two women instead of looking at their table. Judging from their body language they were talking animatedly with Sherlock and John walked up to them, feeling irritated without really knowing why.

"Hello there." John said as soon as he'd reached the table.

Sherlock immediately looked up, a flood of relief washing over his face. "John!" He exclaimed happily.

"I see you got company." John smiled politely at the two woman.  
They looked alike, John thought. Both had brown hair, were of average height and were about 25 years old, John estimated. He instantly felt old.

"Oh yes. This here is Amanda." Sherlock pointed at the woman closest to him. "And this is...Lucy." He finally slurred.

Oh yes, Sherlock was definitely a lot drunker than he was, John noticed.

"I was just in the process of explaining the beauty of prime numbers to them." Sherlock continued.

"Ah yes, prime numbers." John said absentmindedly, gauging the two women to see if they were truly interested in prime numbers, or if they were interested in something else entirely.

"I think they are so interesting!" The woman named Amanda said, flashing a smile and briefly touching Sherlocks shoulder.

Okay so that one if definitely after something else_, _John thought.

Sherlock seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she was trying to flirt with him and instead began drawing various numbers on a napkin while mumbling something about symmetry.

"Wow, you're really smart!" Amanda tried again, her hand now apparently having found a permanent resting place on Sherlocks shoulder.  
"I think it's very attractive when someone is smart." Because once again there came no response from Sherlock she spoke once more: "So...what about me? You find me attractive?"  
She smiled suggestively and John tried very hard not to roll his eyes. He began to feel even more irritated and even Amanda's friend Lucy looked embarrassed.

Sherlock in the meantime looked up from his napkin and stared at Amanda. John immediately recognized that look. "Uhoh...here we go." John muttered.

"Not particularly no." Sherlock began. "You face is too asymmetrical for anyone to find you objectively attractive. You have nice eyes though it gets cancelled out by your noise, which is overly large. Furthermore I can tell you have a boyfriend. Making you trying to flirt with me hardly an attractive quality. Even though I can somewhat understand it since your boyfriend is clearly more into someone you know. I can't tell if it's your sister or a close friend since the alcohol in my system has dulled my senses by about 31%, which is a prime number!" Sherlock let out a chuckle. "Isn't that brilliant, we've come full circle!"

He then started what can only be described as giggling and John couldn't help but to smile as well.

Amanda on the other hand didn't seem to find it very amusing. "You're a freak!" She shouted. "Let's go Lucy." It took them less than 15 seconds to leave the bar.

"Nice meeting you." John said sarcastically, sitting down and placing the two pints on the table.  
Only after three attempts did Sherlock manage to get a hold of the glass before him and he looked rather confused at the glass he was now holding.

"I can't believe it." John chuckled. "I finally found something I'm better at than Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock looked at John, confusion still lingering on his face: "And what might that be?"

"Drinking."

Suddenly all the cheerfulness and even the confusion seemed to disappear from Sherlock and his look darkened. "Yes well that is not the only thing you're better at." He muttered in a low voice.

Now it was John's turn to look confused: "What do you mean?"

"You talk John. You can communicate. With everyone. The most...simple, ordinary human beings and you talk to them, with them. And Mycroft. Oh, Mycroft made his career out of it and he succeeded."  
By then Sherlock had resolved to almost slurring the words and John leaned over the table to try and understand what Sherlock was saying: "I tried...I went to a pub for God's sake. Me! In a pub. Just to prove Mycroft wrong. That I can have a conversation with an ordinary person, that I can do that, but, well, you saw me with those women. I couldn't, not even when I tried..."

It took John a few seconds to comprehend what Sherlock was saying, partly because of Sherlock's slurring and partly because his own head seemed to work a lot slower than usual.

"Hey now Sherlock that's not true." John finally began in a low voice, leaning in a little bit more towards Sherlock. "You can talk to ordinary people, hell, you solve cases because of it. And I mean, maybe you had tough luck with that Amanda, but Sherlock, she wasn't a really nice woman anyway. And the two of us had a pretty fun evening talking, right? So you know, you can talk with ordinary people, you talk with me all the time."

John wanted to smile reassuringly at Sherlock, but was taken aback by the look the consulting detective gave him. It was one of pure...amazement, John didn't know how else to describe it. As if he himself was some kind of extraodinary case Sherlock had just laid his eyes on.

"Is that really how you think I perceive you?" Sherlock asked, his voice about three times higher than it normally was. "That I think you're ordinary? I don't think that. Not in the slightest."

And then suddenly two grey/blue eyes were staring at him with such a mix of wonder, confusion and warmth that it made John's head spin.

John fiercely blinked his eyes, trying to regain some form of clarity but suddenly all he could think about was how Sherlock's hand was ever so slightly brushing his.  
It was as if someone had pushed some hidden button, making the entire room electric with tension but even then, somehow in the back of his head he knew that button had not been hidden completely, it had been there all along. He tried to take a deep breath and pull his hand away from Sherlock's but his body seemed to have lost the ability to function properly.  
He just remained sitting frozen, staring into Sherlock's eyes. Even though John could sense hesitation in Sherlock's gaze as well, it was Sherlock who eventually moved closer to him, placing his hand upon John's.

"Sherlock." John had intended to make it sound as a warning, a gentle but firm objection, telling him to stop what he was doing, but all that came out was a whisper in a feeble voice that John hardly recognized as his own.

And then two blue/grey eyes came closer to his own and then Sherlock's lips were brushing his and John stopped thinking all together...

* * *

**A/N: So...what did you guys think? Loved it? Hated it? Fell asleep halfway through? Whatever you're thinking right now, it's time to put those thoughts into words and write me a ****review****! Who knows...I might even consider writing a sequel... (yes this is me attempting to blackmail you guys)**


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